Disability

If (R)omance is a fabrication, rooted out of the basic frame of human emotions - 

It is the by-product of capitalism, consumerism, perhaps, The New Hollywood. 

Not love, we are all born for love, just romance.

Lounge music played, progression of chords performed but to soothe your ears, a convention.

Wine glasses cheered, candle lights, an ambiance reproduced.

Her conversational eyes and a smile of sunshine - no money can buy,

his suit and tie, a reflection of honnête homme

selectively, we chose to be.

As classic as it is, we sing praises, write of poems - exploit art, via expression. 

A treasured vehicle, we claim.

Structure, is what I gain from my education of sociology. Mass produced is what defines most of us, even emotionally.

How true am I from my core, that speaks none of mimicry and imitation.

Unidentifiable, therefore not a standard.

I am born normal, physically and outwardly a norm.

Less do I know, of which that cannot be seen, is left to be discovered.

My disability, for instance.

Albeit an ardour for love.